


Someone prettier (who works a little harder)

by Vidriana



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Relationships, Bisexual Female Character, Character Study, Gen, Podfic Available, Rule 63, no plot only feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-28 10:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vidriana/pseuds/Vidriana
Summary: Willy has foggy, pictureless memories, the sensation of cold air on her face as her dad skated her around an ice rink. The scary, slippery feeling of being put in skates the first time, when she could barely walk.Willy spends her whole life wondering when things will fall into place.





	Someone prettier (who works a little harder)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a plot-free journey where I project some of my complicated feelings onto a female version of Willy Nylander. It's very meandering and not at all goal-oriented, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> As always all thanks in the world to frecklebombfic, who betad this for me <3

Willy has foggy, pictureless memories, the sensation of cold air on her face as her dad skated her around an ice rink. The scary, slippery feeling of being put in skates the first time, when she could barely walk.

Hockey has always been a part of her life, as far back as her memory goes, and Willy can’t imagine a life without it. It doesn’t take too long for her to figure out that making this a reality is going to be hard.

There are a couple of women in the NHL. Willy hears the way people talk about them, the extra dose of skepticism whenever a woman gets drafted in the first round, the level of derision when someone doesn’t pan out. Her father tries to keep her away from it as well as he can, but Willy learns early on that she’ll have to watch her every move if she ever wants to make it to the show. 

————— 

They’ve only been in Washington for a few months, but Willy genuinely likes Nicky, likes his shy, kind of awkward demeanor that melts away as soon as he’s comfortable, likes how he always plays ping pong with her and Alex when he comes over, or takes them out for a round of street hockey. Most of all she likes how he never treats her differently from Alex.

It’s still a shock when he says it, offhand, like it means nothing at all, like it’s a given. “You know, when you’re playing in the NHL in a couple of years you’re gonna understand why I’m tired all the time.” Willy freezes and the ping pong ball she’s trying to balance on her paddle rolls to the floor.

Nicky opens one eye and sleepily looks at her from where he’s spread out on the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“You really think I can play? Like, in the NHL?” Willy asks, dropping the paddle on a couch cushion as she sits down on the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs as she looks up at Nicky.

Nicky sits up, his expression concerned. “Of course, why wouldn’t you?” he asks, and Willy looks down at the floor, burying her toes in the fuzzy carpet while she tries to come up with a good answer. 

“You don’t like Crosby,” is what she finally settles on and it comes out a lot shakier than she’d planned. Nicky’s eyes widen. He looks stricken.

“That’s not— I don’t—” he breaks off, looking at his hands helplessly. “It’s not because she’s a girl,” he finally says, but it sounds hollow. Willy just wraps her arms tighter around her legs and presses her face against her knees to hide how watery her eyes feel all of a sudden.

Nicky hesitates for a moment before he slides down from the couch and comes to sit next to her. 

“Hey,” he says, gently touching her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” That makes Willy look up and she blinks, trying to hold off the tears that are rising up. “I never really thought about what that sounds like to you,” he continues 

A single tear slips from Willy’s eyes and she closes them furiously. “I’m really sorry,” Nicky says again. “You’re right, I’m not— I don’t like her,” he sounds helpless when he continues. “It’s not because she’s a girl though, I promise. She’s a really good player obviously, but I just— I hate how they keep comparing Ovi to her. She’s such a media darling and it’s not fair that—” he breaks off and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says for the third time. “I won’t— I’ll stop okay. And I don’t ever want you to think that I won’t support you in every way I can, okay?” More tears spring to Willy’s eyes, but for a different reason now.

“Promise?” she asks, small and hesitant. 

Nicky holds up his right hand, two fingers crossed. “I promise. Whatever you need.” Willy wipes at her eyes, smile slowly returning to her face.

“Dinner’s ready!” Michael calls from above and Nicky gets up, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans before holding out his hand for Willy to take. 

“What have you two been up to?” Michael asks when they’re all sitting around the dinner table together. Willy smiles, bright as the sun.

“Nicky promised he’s gonna help me make the NHL!” she exclaims and Michael gives Nicky an amused glance.

“Is that so?” Nicky nods decisively and something in Michael’s expression shifts, amusement giving way for a shy kind of pride when he looks at his oldest daughter. “Well, in that case you better eat your vegetables. And if you come to the rink before practice tomorrow Nicky can show you how to sauce a pass again, okay?”

“Can I come too?” Alex asks earnestly, from his place next to Willy. “I wanna be in the NHL too!” Michael smiles.

Willy catches Nicky’s eyes across the table and happily digs in.

———— 

There aren’t always competitive mixed teams close to where they live, so Willy gets used to travelling. Sometimes she still ends up being the only girl on the team and even if she isn’t she usually ends up keeping to herself, too quiet, too focused on hockey, and gone too soon to really make friends.

She meets Nick playing in Chicago. He sits down next to her in the locker room while she’s taping up her socks, and she knows his name even though they’ve never talked before. The coach had introduced him as their most promising player, voice filled with pride, and Willy does not want to deal with him.

“So, your dad played in the NHL right?” Willy gives a curt nod and continues taping her socks, but her shoulders feel tense. It hasn’t been easy lately with her dad going from Europe back to the AHL, his career hanging in the balance, and she never knows how to react to other people asking about him. 

“He ever teach you any tricks you could show me?” Nick asks, apparently not taking the hint to leave her alone. 

“Maybe, if you can keep up,” Willy chirps, fully expecting him to puff out his chest and get offended, but he just laughs, loud and happy like he’s fucking delighted by her answer.

“Oh I see how it is,” he says, grin wide on his face.

He comes to find her at the end of practice, where Willy's still shooting pucks at the net on her own, and asks if he can join her. He does the same thing after the next session, and within two weeks, Willy has a new ritual. 

Practicing with Nick is fun. He’s competitive, and he’s good, and he doesn’t treat her any different than any other of their teammates, doesn’t hit on her or try to help her, and it’s— it’s good, right up until Willy notices the looks the other guys on the team give them.

The furtive glances, the little smirks whenever Nick and Willy are the only ones staying late, they bother her, probably more than they should. They set her apart, make her overthink things.

The next day, Willy comes to practice with her hair cut short. The airy feeling against her neck is strange, and not being able to push her bangs behind her ear feels weird. Nick smiles when he sees her. “Wanted to look like one of the boys?” he chirps and Willy shrugs.

“Yeah, maybe,” she admits, and it’s different from how they usually talk to each other, no trace of cockiness or posturing. 

Nick nudges her with his elbow, seeking contact in a way he usually doesn’t. “It suits you,” he decides, sounding strangely serious. “I’m glad you’re on the team, you know. Dunno if I said that before.” He doesn’t meet her eyes, but Willy still feels like there’s a weight lifted off her chest. 

She keeps her hair short the rest of the season.

—————

When her family moves to Sweden she signs her first contract and plays her first pro game a year later. She’s the youngest one on the team by at least two years and she’s the only girl, but her dad’s with her and that makes everything easier. He treats her the same way he always has, gives her advice and instructions, and the others simply take their cues from him. They treat her like a kid, so they don’t have to figure out how to treat her like a woman, and Willy is mostly relieved about that.

At the end of the season she signs with another team, and she’s still one of the youngest players, but with a U20 team no one treats her like a child.

It makes some things easier, others more complicated.

They win their first away game of the season. Willy scores two goals and when they pile into a corner booth in a crowded bar afterwards Willy feels giddy, more from being included, being asked to come along, than from the miniscule amount of alcohol in her system. She feels warm and welcome, pressed up against up against her teammates on either side, the tips of her hair still wet from her hasty shower.

It lasts for about two beers, until she starts noticing the looks. It’s nothing overt, nothing uncomfortable, but there’s curiosity there in her teammates’ eyes.

It’s like a weight dropping into her stomach. It’s like Nick all over again. She backs off a little, just enough so her elbow isn’t resting against the warm skin of her teammate’s forearm anymore. 

The waitress walks by their table for the third time, taking a new round of enthusiastic orders and raises an amused eyebrow at the less than subtle come-ons from Willy’s teammates. She’s pretty, with long brown hair, braided down her back, and a nose piercing. Her eyes linger on Willy a second longer than on her teammates, and she smiles. Willy smiles back.

She slips Willy a piece of paper along with her coke, when she brings the next round, and when one of the guys finally musters up the courage and asks, “So, Willy? What about you? Got a boyfriend?” Willy just holds up the paper, string of digits clearly visible and answers, “No, but I’m gonna get a date with the girl you’ve been checking out all evening.”

There’s laughter and cajoling, and someone claps Willy on the back in a companionable way. Willy isn’t sure she really likes the wolvish smiles, the little smirks, like they’re all in on a joke together, but it’s better than the tension.

The waitress’ name is Sarah, as Willy learns later that evening, and they do go on a couple of dates. It’s nice, but it doesn’t last. Nothing ever could, with the way half of Willy’s heart is always on the ice, always chasing pucks and gliding along so fast it feels like flying. It’s probably not fair, but Willy doesn’t think she could ever love someone who doesn’t get that.

—————

When Pasta first comes to the team he doesn’t know any Swedish, and while he understands quite a bit of English, he doesn’t really speak much. Willy isn’t sure how to deal with it, how to deal with him. He’s so happy in this foreign country, in this new city and this strange team where he doesn’t know a single soul.

He smiles at her when they get put together for a shooting drill. Some of his front teeth are chipped, and Willy wonders if that’s from hockey. Her fingers bump into the mesh of her face cage, when she tries to touch her own mouth, and she drops her hand, heat rushing to her face.

“Good shot,” is the first thing he ever says to her, and Willy startles.

“Eh, thanks,” she says, then belatedly adds, “You too.” The little pause doesn’t seem to bother him, because he just smiles at her again, wide and bright, and mimes taking a bow, and it’s so charming that Willy can’t help but laugh.

Her initial apprehension doesn’t last more than a few days. At the end of his first week, Pasta and her are inseparable. Willy hadn’t really noticed how much she’d missed having someone her own age around, until she suddenly has Pasta. He’s funny, telling jokes in his limited English, miming the things he doesn’t have the words for, and Willy doesn’t remember the last time she’s laughed so much.

His English improves fast once he’s less shy about speaking in front of other people, and he starts picking up bits and pieces of Swedish as well. Two months in they end up talking in a unique mix of languages and gestures that only the two of them seem to fully understand and there’s a warm fluttering in Willy’s chest when she first notices.

It’s a problem. More than the possibility of Nick flirting with her ever had been. At least if one of her teammates hit on her she could just shoot them down, but if she’s the one having feelings...

When Willy takes off her helmet after practice a few loose strands of hair brush against her neck. Later that evening when she’s standing in front of the mirror in her bathroom she carefully gathers up her hair and tries to put it in a ponytail. It’s not long enough, a whole section slipping through her fingers. She lets go and stares at her reflection for a moment longer, then averts her eyes.

The next day she’s distracted, caught in her thoughts and trying not to think at the same time. Pasta taps his stick against her skates, making her look up. “Something wrong?” he asks in that serious, sincere way he has. 

Willy just shakes her head and steals his puck, but he keeps sending her concerned looks for the whole time they’re on the ice. He catches up with her after practice, sitting down quietly next to her stall as they both wait for the others to clear out.

“I just—” she starts once they’re alone, but she has no idea what she actually wants to say. “I’ve been thinking of growing out my hair,” she says instead of anything of substance. Pasta still nods solemnly, like she’s just revealed a state secret.

“Wanna look pretty for other girls?” he asks with an edge of teasing in his voice, and it’s not something they’ve ever talked about, but the others must have told him. 

There’s an easy fix to this. In her mind, Willy can picture it so clearly. She could say _I want to look pretty for you_ or something equally provocative and untrue while looking up at him through her eyelashes, the way Sarah had always said was irresistible. Maybe she’d even kiss him afterwards.

“Yeah, I guess,” is what she says instead, looking down at her untied skate laces. There’s a moment of stillness, then Pasta puts his hand on her shoulder.

“Why not?” he asks, and it’s _Why don’t you?_ and _What are you so scared of?_ all in one, and Willy doesn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t want—” she starts, then breaks off, biting her lip. She doesn’t even know where the sudden desire to have long hair comes from, how is she even supposed to explain why it feels so monumentally terrifying. “I don’t like being singled out,” she finally settles on, because it’s true and also something she can say without having to figure out the mess of her thoughts. 

“What if I also grow out my hair?” Pasta says and it throws her so much that she just stares at him silently until he starts fidgeting. “What? You don’t think I look good?” he asks, mock offended, and it’s so like him that Willy can’t help but laugh.

“Even long hair can’t help you,” she chirps and grins when he presses a hand to his chest, pretending to be deeply wounded. 

“Serious, though,” he says when they’re outside, faces buried in a thick layer of scarves and jacket collars. “If you wanna grow out hair, I’ll do it too.”

It’s probably good that Willy can only barely make out his nose underneath all the clothes, because otherwise she might have just kissed him, consequences be damned. Instead she just ducks her head, sinking deeper into her cocoon of clothing.

“Yeah, okay,” is all she replies.

They don’t talk about it any more than that, but Willy doesn’t go get her hair cut when it starts growing past her jawline like she usually does. Pasta’s hair curls in the nape of his neck, and Willy has to suppress the desire to reach out and play with the strands that peek out from the back of his helmet. 

He smiles at her, like he always does, and Willy thinks that she probably knows now what it feels like to be in love, and it’s the most wonderful, painful thing she’s ever experienced.

———— 

Willy gets drafted. More than that, she gets drafted in the first round, eighth overall, to the Toronto Maple Leafs. She’s glad she brought so much family with her, because hiding her face in the crook of her mother’s neck gives her time to calm herself, time to get her breathing back under control and put on a bright, publicity smile instead of the fragile, helpless thing that somehow made its way on her face.

The lights feel bright through the thin fabric of the blouse she’s wearing as she steps up to the stage to receive her jersey and hat. 

Toronto doesn’t have any women on their roster. Their ever-changing GMs and coaches over the past few years made for a more rough style of play, banking on known, obvious qualities instead of looking for hidden gems among their draft stock. Willy likes to think that her talents justify her draft position, will quietly admit to herself that she feels like she should have been drafted higher, but it’s still clear to her that she’s a controversial pick.

She gets rushed off the stage and pulled along after an assistant with important-looking credentials for pictures and autographs, signed pucks and congratulations. She shakes hands and smiles for the camera, and follows another assistant somewhere else. It feels like hours before she finally has time to check her phone.

_Congrats!!! See you in the show!!!_ a message from Nick says, and she smiles down at it, before texting him back. Pasta sent her a simple smiley face, but from the time of the message he must have sent it just after they called her name, and the thought makes her heart clench painfully. She sends back a sparkling pink heart, and pretends it’s as much of a joke as Pasta probably thinks it is.

————— 

No matter how hard she tries, it quickly becomes obvious that Willy is not going to make the team this year. 

It’s not a surprise; no one had expected her to, she hadn’t really expected it herself either, but the rejection still stings. It also puts the organization in an interesting position.

Willy isn’t affiliated with a junior team, had not-so-graciously declined a spot when one had tried to acquire her in the import draft. It probably hadn’t been the most diplomatic way to handle the situation, but Willy has spent enough of her life on teams full of teenage boys with inferiority complexes to know she doesn’t need a repeat. 

In any case, it leaves her with two choices: Go back to Sweden and continue playing there with the same systems and the same coaches, or join the Marlies and get to know Maple Leafs hockey. 

There aren’t any women in the AHL. The league as a whole isn’t necessarily tougher than the NHL, but it’s bigger, grittier, with more hits, and less finely tuned plays. It’s more reckless, full of players who are so desperate to stand out, to get their shot at the big leagues, that they’re willing to get it by putting someone else in the hospital. 

It’s the absolute last place someone like Willy belongs.

She plays her first game with the Marlies in January and she loves it with an intensity that surprises her.

———— 

“Hey, can you show me how to fight?” Willy asks Dicky one day when they’re alone in the weightroom. His eyebrows furrow when he turns to her, putting down his dumbbells. 

“Why? Is anyone giving you shit? You don’t have to prove anything to them, you know that, right?” 

“I know,” Willy replies easily. “It’s just, you know, in case I get into a fight. It could happen,” she protests when Dicky gives her an extremely skeptical look. 

“It better not. I’m supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Willy posts a picture of herself with her hands still wrapped after boxing practice on her much-neglected instagram. She’s still sweaty, and her hair is a mess from when Dicky had playfully dragged his knuckles across her scalp, but the smile on her face is real.

————— 

Over the summer, the Leafs trade their star player to the Pittsburgh Penguins. Overall the deal is pretty complicated, with picks and conditions and players both teams know will never work out. The part that’s relevant for Willy is that it brings Kasperi Kapanen to Toronto.

Despite the impressive number of teams she’s played on, Willy has only rarely played with other women, and has never been particularly close to any of them. The comparisons come too easily, making every little, innocuous thing feel like a competition, until it was just easier to avoid each other.

Willy has, however, played against quite a few other women, and the one she remembers the most vividly by far is Kapanen. 

Maybe it’s because their stories are so similar, both growing up in North America due to their fathers’ hockey careers, both standing out on every team they play on, despite being younger than most of their teammates. They had only played each other in international tournaments, but those games had been...memorable.

Willy’s most recent memory of Kapanen is giving her a shy smile across a room filled with other hopeful draftees in Philadelphia, silently wishing her luck. The one before that is of Kapanen snarling vicious insults at her, after Willy scored her first goal in the U18 Worlds quarter final earlier that year. She’d been quiet along with the rest of her team, when Willy scored her second goal, putting Sweden ahead 8-0, but still. Definitely memorable.

Some nerves feel justified when Willy first sees her during training camp that summer. She looks at Willy and raises an eyebrow, and Willy braces herself for a chirp of some sort.

Instead Kapanen just smiles and says, “I bet being on the ice with you is gonna be much more fun when you’re not constantly scoring on my team.” 

“Well, if you miss it too much, there’s always practice,” Willy replies with a shrug and Kapanen laughs.

It takes less than half the practice for Kapanen to become Kasperi, to become Kappy. It takes even less than that for them to become friends, and when the season finally starts, they’re near inseparable.

It’s like being with Pasta again, so easy and familiar. Kappy is new in town, in the country even, and Willy loves showing her around, sharing all her favorite spots and spending time together. Kappy’s funny, but sharp, with a more wicked sense of humor than Pasta. She’s loud too, always talking on the ice, and every misconception that the insults Kappy had hurled at Willy before were vicious is soundly resolved during their first away game.

Kappy is confident, and doesn’t take any shit, not from their teammates, and certainly not from opponents. While Willy likes to ignore chirps and let her game speak for itself, Kappy seeks them out, provokes them, and laughs in their faces. 

Kappy mockingly blows an opposing defender a kiss, and shakes out her hair after her helmet comes off in a scuffle, the strands that have come loose from her braid standing up from the static, and Willy finds herself wanting to smooth them back down.

Afterwards she keeps catching herself daydreaming about playing with Kappy’s hair, curling up next to her after an exhausting game. She finds herself mentally tracing the contours of her face, the shape of her lips, and...

Well, it’s like being with Pasta again for multiple reasons.

Still, when the season ends, and Kappy asks her if they should look for a place to share next season, Willy only hesitates a little bit.

———— 

The summer sun is warm on her shoulders, and it’s good to be back in Sweden. The company is good too.

“This is nice,” Nick says, settling down next to her. “‘s been a while since we could just hang out together, the four of us.”

Willy hums in agreement. “Last time, you and me were still teammates.”

“Oh, Nick had such a crush on you back then,” Jordan says with a laugh and Nick punches him in the side. Willy’s stomach drops unpleasantly. It’s not a light punch like they usually exchange when they’re joking around, this one looks like it hurts, like Nick meant it to. Jordan swears and clutches his side in response, turning to look at Nick with an angry expression on his face.

“Shut up,” Nick hisses through clenched teeth. He looks furious, his cheeks red and his mouth tense like he wants to yell at Jordan and is just barely holding himself back. Jordan seems to realize he fucked up, because his eyes widen when he looks at Willy.

“Oh shit, I didn’t—”

Willy doesn’t want to hear it. She’s very decidedly not looking at either one of them, but she can feel her face grow hot anyway.

“Hey, how about we go down to the beach?” Alex offers, a weak excuse to diffuse the situation, but Willy happily takes it.

————— 

During the next training camp, Willy meets Auston. She’s not quite sure what to expect from a first overall pick. Alex had said he was nice, but the two of them hadn’t really interacted much.

“Why do you cut your hair so short?” Auston asks her when they’re in the locker room together.

Willy shrugs. “Lou’s rules.”

Auston raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure those apply to you, do they?”

“I’m part of the team, aren’t I?” Willy shoots back, and goes back to lacing up her skates.

They get paired up during a simple passing drill, and when Auston scores off her pass he holds out his fist for her to bump with an ease like they’ve been doing this for ages. Playing with him feels like they’ve been doing this for ages, and when he scores four goals in his first NHL game, Willy assists on two of them.

Afterwards, Auston ruffles her hair and pats her on the shoulder. “Glad we’re in this together,” he says, quiet in the commotion all around them, but sincere nonetheless.

It feels a bit like clicking into place.

———— 

Living with Kappy is fine, for the most part. She doesn’t seem to believe in clothes, which is distracting, but it’s nice to come home to someone after a long roadtrip, to share something that feels like a home.

Willy had assumed there’d be some tension with her playing for the Leafs and Kappy still down with the Marlies, but Kappy never lets on that she minds, even though Willy knows she does.

They cook together and eat together whenever they can. Most nights they’re home, they curl up on the couch together, watching highlights, or movies, when neither one of them wants to think about hockey for a while. Kappy runs her fingers through Willy’s hair, so slow and soothing that Willy almost nods off a couple of times, and it’s a different kind of comfort, not so much clicking into place as letting herself fall and knowing she’ll be caught.

Some day Kappy will also make the Leafs, and they’ll get to play together again. Willy might tell Kappy about her feelings, or maybe Kappy will be the one who makes the first move. For now, Willy just closes her eyes and is content.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes: In case you're not familiar, Jordan is Nick Schmaltz' brother, and they're both occasionally featured on Willy and Alex' instagrams (and he plays for the Marlies now, I'm pretty sure). Also, Pasta's front teeth were actually not yet chipped when he played in Sweden, but I liked the image so much that I kept it anyway.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Someone prettier (who works a little harder)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169631) by [Vidriana_pod (Vidriana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vidriana/pseuds/Vidriana_pod)


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